


All of the Subtext

by Storybreather221



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storybreather221/pseuds/Storybreather221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which subtext becomes context. Or in which we listen in on a conversation at 221B and really hope Mycroft hasn't got the flat bugged again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is by far the most erotic thing I've ever written. 0_o

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Because I asked you to?”

“John.”

“Because we’ve been putting it off, we have to do it. It can’t wait any longer.”

“And my participation is required because . . .?”

“Because I need an extra set of hands.”

“You really don’t.”

“Well, it’s more enjoyable when you do it with someone.”

“You know I don’t usually partake in this sort of activity.”

“I’m well aware, Mr. Everything-Else-Is-Transport. Now can we just get started already?”

“...”

“...”

“I can’t get it open.”

“Try using your teeth.”

“My _teeth_?”

“Oh honestly, Sherlock. Here, I’ll do it.”

“...”

“Do you want me to help you get it out, too?”

“No, I can manage that well enough, thank you.”

“Right, well while you do that I’m going to prepare this bit.”

“...”

“...”

“I don’t think it’s all going to fit inside, John.”

“I know it looks like a lot, but we shouldn’t have any problems. Just go slow, don’t put everything in at once.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“It’s chemistry, Sherlock. Basic chemistry.”

“Funnily enough, that explanation didn’t work in grade school either.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“It’s gotten all hard, John.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen. You’ve got to work it a bit.”

“With what?”

“Well ideally your hands would get the job done.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Yes, but it’s more effective with your hands.”

“I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you, John.”

“Believe me, I’m over the moon about it.”

“...”

“Don’t be afraid of it, get all the way under there.”

“I don’t see why you can’t do this yourself if you think you know a better way of going about it.”

“I need to focus my attention elsewhere at the moment.”

“What’s this white stuff doing here?”

“It’s supposed to be there just rub it around a bit.”

“I can feel it underneath my fingernails.”

“I’ll be sure to bring you to a manicurist’s later.”

“...”

“...”

“Is this the sort of thing you usually do with your girlfriends?”

“Sometimes, yeah. This particular effort is mostly new territory for me though.”

“There, how’s that?”

“Good, Sherlock, that’s good. Alright, now it’s my turn.”

“...”

“...”

“You’ve certainly got a well-practiced hand.”

“Well I have had some prior experience. There, that should do it.”

“Can you put it in now?”

“No, hang on, Sherlock, I have to prepare--”

“Shouldn’t you have done that earlier?”

“Look just because this isn’t my first time doesn’t mean I’m an expert!”

“Ow, watch it!”

“Sorry. Oh wow, it’s a lot hotter than I thought it would be in there.”

“As always, you amaze me with your profound words of wisdom.”

“Shut up.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Ahh, finally. We’re finished. Well that was far more strenuous than I would’ve liked, but I think it went okay.”

“...”

“What is it?”

“I’m rather tempted to lick some of this off. I heard it’s supposed to taste good.”

“You’ve never tasted it before?”

“Well I’ve never done this with anyone but you.”

“I suppose not. Yeah alright, go ahead.”

“Not bad. Not terribly healthy though.”

“It’s harmless enough in small quantities.”

“Hmm.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“John.”

“Yeah, Sherlock?”

“Since we’re done baking the banana bread for Mrs. Hudson’s potluck, can we have sex now?”

“Yeah, alright.”


	2. And Now With Context

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone wasn't completely sure that Sherlock and John's conversation was about anything but baking, I've filled in the context to prove their innocence. Dialogue is completely the same, all I've done is write the in-betweens.

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

John closed his eyes and prayed for patience. It was the same exact prayer he’d offered up five minutes ago when Sherlock had asked the exact same question, but he felt God wouldn’t mind the repetition considering who he was dealing with.

“Because I asked you to?” he said, a politer version of “Because you left the scalp samples in my favorite tea cup again and if you don’t help me out with this I’m going to replace every single body part in our kitchen with your own.” Naturally, of course, this didn’t constitute a satisfactory answer for the great consulting detective.

“John.”

“Because we’ve been putting it off, we have to do it. It can’t wait any longer,” John said, slamming the recipe book down on the counter with emphasized force. He really shouldn’t have left the baking this late. After all, Mrs. Hudson had invited them to the potluck in her apartment a month ago, and while granted most of his energies during that time had been spent convincing Sherlock to go to said potluck (a long and exhausting negotiation that resulted in allowing the pancreas to remain in the toaster and making John pick up the body parts from the morgue for the next two weeks because Sherlock couldn’t be bothered), he still shouldn’t have left it to the last minute. The dinner was at seven, which meant they had three hours to prepare at least a halfway decent and mostly edible food item to bring.

After much deliberation, John had decided to make banana bread, as it was a fairly simple recipe and, while cooking wasn’t exactly his speciality, he felt confident he would be able to prepare it without burning the flat down. He’d already spent the last two hours sterilizing the kitchen, much to Sherlock’s protests for his precious experiments, and he could get it done much quicker if he had someone to help him. Sherlock, however, didn’t seem to appreciate the concept of teamwork.

“And my participation is required because . . .?” he said from his armchair, which he was currently lounging in upside-down with his feet propped on the headrest and his hands placed under his chin in that position that John had always found incredibly ironic because it make him look as though he was praying. The only higher power Sherlock looked to for answers was himself, after all.

“Because I need an extra set of hands,” John said, wondering if it was the task itself or the blood rushing to his head that was making Sherlock particularly obstinate.

“You really don’t.”

Actually, he was probably just being purposefully stubborn. Git.

“Well, it’s more enjoyable when you do it with someone.” He was grasping at straws now, and he knew it, but the baking really would go a lot faster if Sherlock gave him a hand. If he hadn’t already bought all the ingredients, John would have just gone out and bought some banana bread. Hell, he probably should have done that in the first place. Now it was if he’d undertaken some kind of personal challenge to convince Sherlock to help him out for Mrs. Hudson’s party. A challenge he would fight even though he knew his odds of winning were minuscule to the point where they might as well not exist.

“You know I don’t usually partake in this sort of activity,” Sherlock said, making baking sound like some kind of lewd, sexual affair.

“I’m well aware, Mr. Everything-Else-Is-Transport. Now can we just get started already?”

Sherlock didn’t move, but merely contemplated John from his upside-down position as if trying to understand the joke. Even from that position, John could read the expression in his eyes as easily as if the detective had spoken out loud.

_Surely you can’t expect to win this battle, John._

Well, we’ll just see about that.

Giving Sherlock one last look, John marched over to the refrigerator and yanked the door open. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him as he reached into their former cheese drawer and withdrew three containers each containing a human tongue in varying stages of decay. This particular experiment, which John hadn’t asked about because, quite frankly, he did _not_ want to know, was Sherlock’s pride and joy and the culmination of six weeks of careful analysis and preservation. John walked very deliberately to the trash bin, holding the containers before him as Sherlock watched him with narrow eyes.

_You wouldn’t dare._

_Watch me._

John lifted up the lid of the bin. In an instant, Sherlock was in front of him, one hand on the containers and the other pressing the lid back down. John raised an eyebrow, a trick he had perfected in his time at Baker Street.

_Well?_

Sherlock took the containers out of John’s hand, placed them carefully back into the fridge, and turned to face John with a scowl he usually reserved especially for Anderson. John tossed the bag of flour at him, pleased at his small victory. If eye-rolling ever became a sport in the Olympics, Sherlock would win every single gold medal they had. John took out the bananas and began mushing them together in a small bowl.

“I can’t get it open.”

John turned to see the comical view of one of the world’s greatest minds struggling to open a flour bag. John tried not to grin. If Sherlock thought he was laughing at him he would refuse to help anymore, tongues or no.

“Try using your teeth,” John suggested.

“My _teeth_?”

“Oh honestly, Sherlock.” He was doing his on purpose, he had to be. “Here, I’ll do it.”

John took the bag and, with a little effort (how did they seal these things so well?) he managed to tear a corner off and handed it back to Sherlock, who just stood there holding it, staring at John with those expressive eyes.

_All of this knowledge and intellectual prowess at my disposal and you’ve reduced me to a mere cooking assistant._

“Do you want me to help you get it out, too?” John asked, pointedly.

“No, I can manage that well enough, thank you,” came Sherlock’s scornful reply.

“Right, well while you do that I’m going to prepare this bit,” John said, indicating the partially mushed bananas, which he resumed mashing with a fork.

“I don’t think it’s all going to fit inside, John.”

This was his revenge, wasn’t it, John thought. Asking questions and pointing things out every five seconds so he would end up doing all the work anyway while Sherlock just sat back and enjoyed his frustration. He turned and looked over at the mixing bowl he’d put out. Oh, actually that did look a bit smaller than he’d thought. Not that he would ever admit it.

“I know it looks like a lot, but we shouldn’t have any problems. Just go slow, don’t put everything in at once.”

“This is ridiculous.”

True, but also something he would refuse to admit. _Lesson learned, John, he thought. Next time, just buy the damn bread and tell her you baked it. That’s what everyone else does._

“It’s chemistry, Sherlock. Basic chemistry.”

“Funnily enough, that explanation didn’t work in grade school either.”

So much for the appeal to his interests. Luckily Sherlock kept silent for the next few minutes, perhaps sensing that they quicker they got through this the sooner he could return to whatever it was that needed contemplation with your head on the floor. Unfortunately, the blessed silence couldn’t last long.

“It’s gotten all hard, John.”

John glanced over at the mixing bowl where most of the ingredients had clumped together in giant chunks.

“Yeah, that’ll happen. You’ve got to work it a bit,” he said.

“With what?”

“Well ideally your hands would get the job done.”

“Sounds messy.”

_Congratulations, John, amongst the thousands of people living in London, you managed to become flatmates with the world’s only consulting five year-old._

“Yes, but it’s more effective with your hands,” he said.

“I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you, John.”

“Believe me, I’m over the moon about it.”

When Sherlock was quiet for just a little too long for comfort, John glanced over to see how he was getting on. Sherlock was prodding at the dough like it was a bowlful of Semtex instead of mixed baking ingredients.

“Don’t be afraid of it, get all the way under there,” John said.

“I don’t see why you can’t do this yourself if you think you know a better way of going about it,” Sherlock snapped.

I need to focus my attention elsewhere at the moment,” John said, indicating the bread pan that needed to be greased.

“What’s this white stuff doing here?” Sherlock asked, pointed at the remains of the egg whites that had not been fully mixed in. John looked and saw amusement dancing behind Sherlock’s eyes. Well at least one of them was enjoying himself.

“It’s supposed to be there just rub it around a bit,” John said. Sherlock did so, making fake, exaggerated grimaces as he pushed the dough around.

“I can feel it underneath my fingernails,” he whined, having successfully completed his transformation into a teenaged girl.

“I’ll be sure to bring you to a manicurist’s later,” John grinned, playing along. They both grinned, and John reached over to place the pans on the other side of the counter so he could get closer to Sherlock with the mushed bananas.

“Is this the sort of thing you usually do with your girlfriends?” Sherlock asked.

“Sometimes, yeah,” John said, remembering the half a dozen or so times he’d helped his girlfriends bake a cake or something. “This particular effort is mostly new territory for me though.” _In more ways than one_ , he thought, looking at Sherlock.

“There, how’s that?”

“Good, Sherlock, that’s good,” John said, nodding at the bowl. “Alright, now it’s my turn.”

He added the bananas to the mix and, grabbing a spoon (hands wouldn’t be necessary now that Sherlock had done most of the work) he quickly blended them in.

“You’ve certainly got a well-practiced hand,” Sherlock remarked from where he stood leaning against the counter. John smirked at the implication.

“Well I have had some prior experience,” he teased. “There, that should do it.”

“Can you put it in now?” Sherlock asked, probably already thinking about returning to his chair.

“No, hang on, Sherlock, I have to prepare--” John moved to switch the oven on. Damn, he forgot about pre-heating it.

“Shouldn’t you have done that earlier?” Sherlock said, reading his thoughts.

“Look just because this isn’t my first time doesn’t mean I’m an expert!” John said, then inwardly groaned at his choice of words which, judging by the bemused look on Sherlock’s face, hadn’t gone unnoticed. To cover up his embarrassment, John quickly pour the mix into the pan and yanked the oven open, swiping the sharp, metal corner against Sherlock’s leg in the process.

“Ow, watch it!” he yelped, jumping back.

“Sorry,” John said, only partly meaning it. He hadn’t torn Sherlock’s pant leg, so he would be fine. He bent down to the open mouth of the oven. “Oh wow, it’s a lot hotter than I thought it would be in there.”

“As always, you amaze me with your profound words of wisdom.”

“Shut up.”

The oven rack was rusty from lack of use, and John had some difficulty getting it out. After much grunting and swearing, he finally managed to put the pan on and then wrench it back into place. With a satisfied air, he shut the oven door, set the timer, and collapsed against the counter.

“Ahh, finally. We’re finished. Well that was far more strenuous than I would’ve liked, but I think it went okay.”

John looked over at Sherlock, who was staring at his dough-covered hands with interest.

“What is it?” John asked.

“I’m rather tempted to lick some of this off. I heard it’s supposed to taste good.”

“You’ve never tasted it before?” John asked, surprised.

“Well I’ve never done this with anyone but you,” Sherlock said. John felt both touched and a bit sad at that. As time went on, he was discovering there were more and more things that Sherlock had never done with someone else. It made him feel proud that he could share something as simple as baking with him.

“I suppose not,” he said. “Yeah alright, go ahead.” He watched with a mixture of disbelief and fascination as Sherlock stuck a finger in his mouth and suck off the dough. Consulting five year-old indeed.

“Not bad. Not terribly healthy though,” Sherlock remarked, moving to wash the rest of the dough off in the sink.

“It’s harmless enough in small quantities,” John said, making a mental note to buy some cookie dough for him to try sometime.

“Hmm.”

They began the arduous task of cleaning up, which really just meant that John chucked the dishes into the sink and ran a damp cloth over the counters while Sherlock watched. 

“John.”

“Yeah, Sherlock?” John said, scrubbing hard at a stain on the counter that he wasn’t sure was from cooking or one of Sherlock’s previous experiments. He really hoped it was the former, stains never boded well at 221B.

“Since we’re done baking the banana bread for Mrs. Hudson’s potluck, can we have sex now?”

John threw the rag into the sink along with the dishes. They could take care of those later.

“Yeah, alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is still by far the most erotic thing I've ever written. XD
> 
> Happy April Fools!


End file.
